


that i have known the dead (and now i'm dying)

by lu_marii



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: ? I suppose, ??? maybe. whatever, Angst, Character Death, Character Study, Gen, Inspired by Poetry, Introspection, Mild Gore, im a "writer" eh, mentioned zelink bc ... lomv them, twilight kinda there but you know i cant write anything not wild centric, was almost linked universe but then, wasnt. oopsie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:01:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28400583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lu_marii/pseuds/lu_marii
Summary: finally, link finds himself at death's door.well, it's not as if he wasn't expecting it to come sooner or later.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 21





	that i have known the dead (and now i'm dying)

**Author's Note:**

> so i wrote this like ... a month or two ago whilst going Thru It and then sat on it for a while and you know what? i like it. it's post worthy. take it. 
> 
> warnings for uh,,, apathy to death, mild gore (blood, injury from weapons), general angst 
> 
> the poem featured is "that i have known the dead" by charles bukowski! i am .. Passionately in love with everything he has ever written and i would highly recommend reading his work!
> 
> anyway. here's this,,, i am currently 8k into a fic that's gonna end up being a 30k monster so. watch out for that! woosh bye :)

_ that i have known the dead and now i’m  _

_ dying  _

_ as they spoon succotash and  _

_ noodles  _

_ into a skull  _

_ past  _

_ caring.  _

* * *

so, it’s finally happening. 

finally, link has fallen and mipha, her power spent for the moment, is unable to help him. 

the sword of the lynel, which now lays dead over link’s legs, is embedded in his gut. metallic blood bubbles in his mouth. he coughs and some of it spurts up, staining his face red. 

again, he tries to move his legs. again, the crushing weight of the lynel on top of them stops him. 

so this is it. 

_ finally,  _ he thinks again.  _ finally, finally, finally.  _

not  _ finally  _ as in he’s glad, but  _ finally  _ in that he knew it had to be coming soon and he was getting damn tired of the numb anticipation. 

he’s long ago completed his purpose. he’s saved hyrule. there’s nothing left for him to do here.

he was born to be the hero, born to be the host of the triforce of courage. he was not born to be a man or a husband or a father. he was born to fight and to sacrifice and to die. 

he raises his hand above him now, stretching it out against the clouds. as naydra soars in the sky, the triforce hums one last time. 

* * *

_ that i have known the dead and now i’m  _

_ dying  _

_ in a world long ago  _

_ gone _

_ leaving this is  _

_ nothing.  _

_ loving it was  _

_ too.  _

* * *

he lowers his hand, blinking blearily up at the dragon. its roar echoes through the promenade and it almost sounds mournful. he wonders if she knows he’s down here dying. 

naydra - the spirit of wisdom. 

the second piece of the triforce is a thousand miles away on the back of zelda’s hand. there’s a pang in his heart. 

if he was a different man, a luckier man, maybe he would be there with her now. maybe there would be no triforces on either of their hands, maybe he would be holding her in his arms, maybe they would marry and go to bed together each night and raise their own children and live happily and simply and for a long, beautiful time. 

but he is not that lucky man, so he has no true qualms with dying. zelda will join him soon enough, although it probably won’t be long before they’re forced through the cycle all over again. 

he won’t leave her behind for long. always, always, zelda will rejoin him. that is an inevitability. 

although, he hates to leave this world behind as it is. still so empty, still so bittersweetly beautiful. still a world where when he walks with bare feet he can feel the hum of its life in his veins. still a world where, when he sits still long enough, blupees climb into his lap and fairies settle in his hair. 

he hopes it’s a long time before his body is found. he hopes he will decompose here, that even if his soul is forced into a new vessel, this body will remain. that it will sink into the dirt on its own, that flowers will grow from his skull and mushrooms will grow on his arms and, a thousand years later, some pilgrim will step over the body of the hero of the wild and have no idea. 

* * *

_ that i have known the dead and now i’m  _

_ dying  _

_ fingers thin to the  _

_ bone,  _

_ i offer no  _

_ prayers.  _

* * *

other men, those lucky men, would be praying now. 

they would be giving hylia desperate pleas, would be stretching their hands up towards naydra and begging for her mercy. they would be here, dying in this sacred promenade at the foot of this sacred mountain under this sacred dragon, and would hope that those conditions would grant them some sort of exception. 

link knows, of course, that the goddesses offer no mercy, no kindness, no love. 

he doesn’t think that was always the case. there is a legend that a long time ago, the hero was the lover of hylia herself. link can not imagine himself loving her as she is now. if she was ever a woman he could love, ever a woman  _ capable  _ of love or kindness or mercy, that has changed in the millennia since then. 

hylia has not been so kind to the hero of the wild or his princess. she can offer him all the boons she wants - that does not change the memory of the tears on zelda’s face as she kneeled in front of hylia’s statue for hours on end and heard nothing. 

deities do not care for their people. they care only for themselves and their own sick game.

they could probably end this cycle, link is sure. but for some perverse reason, it continues, and in a thousand years a new little boy will draw the master sword once more and fight, and sacrifice, and die.

link wishes that, just once, that death could be true. that this cycle of millennia upon millennia of little boys with pudgy hands holding too-big swords which he can not remember, but which weighs heavy on his bones nonetheless, could simply end here. 

but link’s wishes are rarely fulfilled. 

* * *

_ that i have known the dead and now i’m  _

_ dying  _

_ dying  _

_ i have known the dead  _

* * *

he wonders, if he does get a moment in the afterlife before the cycle continues, who he will meet there. 

the champions, surely, will be glad to be released from their imprisonment within his mind. will he finally be able to speak with them again? will he finally be able to feel how it is to hug daruk, to spar urbosa, to hold mipha’s hand, to banter with revali? will he finally place feeling and solidity to those distant, hazy memories? 

and who else will he meet there? who does he not remember who still waits for him? 

he had a family, although his training started so early that he never had much time with them. a red haired mother and a wise father, farmers in hateno; a young sister who loved to draw and care for cuccos… 

he wonders, vaguely, how she fared when the calamity came. he wonders what her name was. 

and then - and this one comes to him like freezing water against the face - will he meet the goddesses? 

oh, does he have words for them. many, many words. 

but first he will speak with his friends and family. they are far more worthy of his attention.

* * *

_ here on earth  _

_ and elsewhere;  _

_ alone now, _

_ alone then,  _

_ alone.  _

* * *

he feels death creeping upon him. he is choking on his own blood, yet he barely notices; the pain he is sure must be in his legs and his gut is nothing but a strange numbness. 

he wishes he could say this is the end of his long, long story. but he knows this is only the end of this chapter. sooner or later hylia will pick up her holy pen, press it to paper, and write another. 

a million thoughts flood his head and only one or two are his own; the rest are those of his past selves, their dying thoughts ( _ it’s dangerous to go alone _ ). he wonders what they were like. all he knows is how they died - some scared and young, some peaceful and old.  a few lucky men, then, among the cursed lot. 

he expects to die alone but as his heavy eyes droop, something wet touches his cheek, and he opens them to find the wolf. it whines, laying down next to him. it, in all of the otherworldly knowledge link knows it holds, does not decide to run for help, and link takes that as the definitive final say on whether or not he dies here.

( _ a sword wields no strength unless the hand that holds it has courage. _ )

“goodbye, friend,” he murmurs, and the wolf huffs. link blinks and thinks he sees blue at the edges of deep gray fur, then blinks again and sees nothing strange. 

then, he blinks a final time, and his eyes do not reopen.


End file.
